Chapter One
August, 1814
Worcestershire
Whitney Crewe stepped from the dark carriage into torchlight, casting a wary eye up at Lord and Lady Taverham’s country home. She shook out her rumpled travel clothes once more, considering the subtle intimidation of the large building looming above her.
So this was Twilit Hill.
The property name had implied she’d discover an elegant, almost delicate structure but Whitney wasn’t prepared for the enormity of the reality. Dear God, this place was a cold monstrosity, and she was expected to paint those who lived here into some semblance of a happy family. No wonder the lady of the house had run away.
For the first time, she wasn’t sure she was up to the challenge.
“Miss Crewe, you’ve come at last!” Lady Taverham cried out as she hurried down the manor’s steep front steps to meet her on the drive.
Surprised by her hostess’ sudden arrival, Whitney smiled broadly and rushed to meet her. The Marchioness of Taverham was a dear friend of her cousin’s, and by association, now hers, too. Whitney thought Miranda the most remarkable woman she’d ever met, but not one given to enthusiastic greetings likes this. “Miranda!”
The woman caught her by the shoulders, puffing slightly. “My dear, what kept you? I’ve been fretting for hours that something had happened to you after we parted.”
“Forgive me.” Whitney kissed Miranda’s warm cheeks, noting that although out of breath from her dash down the stairs, Miranda’s eyes seemed to glow with happiness. “I met the most charming newly married couple after you had been driven off, and when they learned of my accomplishments, they commissioned a sketch to be done to mark the occasion. Since it will be weeks before I pass that way again, I decided not to lose a moment and had them sit for me there and then.”
Miranda’s smile slipped. “I was beginning to suspect you’d tricked us all and changed your mind about coming to visit.”
Whitney smiled and hid the truth. She had thought about it several times since leaving London. She still doubted the wisdom of taking this trip even now. “I just stole a few hours for myself.”
And in that time apart, she had put her plan into motion. The inn where Lady Taverham had last seen her had been the perfect spot to dispense with the fussy companion her cousin, Lord Louth, had foisted upon her at the last moment. Finding the woman already waiting for her in the Taverham’s carriage upon leaving London had soured her good feelings toward her cousin considerably.
“Well, no harm done, I see.” Miranda squeezed her hand. “With all that has happened this season, I can understand you might feel overwhelmed and need the peace. It must be difficult to venture so far from your cousin and his growing family.”
“I have no qualms about leaving my cousin in Iris’ capable hands.” Her cousin had recently married Miss Iris Hedley, a love match she wholeheartedly approved of, and discovered himself a father to an illegitimate child. Neither situation required her supervision or involvement.
Especially not when Martin was always too protective of everyone.
Whitney collected her case containing her paintbrushes and such from an overeager footman and tucked it under her arm. She was very ready to be on her own at last. To make her way in the world with no one to answer to. She had money enough, and she had no responsibilities. She was free to live how she chose. “Besides, I promised Christopher art lessons, didn’t I?”
The woman smiled broadly. “So you did. Christopher tried so hard to remain awake long enough to greet you, but Kit had to carry him up to bed over an hour ago.”
“He must have loved that,” she said with a laugh. Miranda and Kit’s son might be too old to be carried but Kit was very new at being a father to him. “Well, tell Christopher that I always wake early so we can meet first thing in the morning, if his tutor will release him to be with me that is.”
Miranda nodded and looked beyond Whitney’s shoulder. “Where is your companion, Mrs. Fry?”
Whitney shrugged. “She, ah, remembered friends she simply had to visit immediately and went on her merry way.”
Miranda sighed heavily. “Martin warned me you’d try something underhanded, but I told him he was worrying for naught. Oh, he’s going to be so angry with us.” Miranda closed her eyes briefly.
“Only with me,” Whitney promised Miranda. “I’m sorry, but I told you—and Martin—many times that I do not need or want a companion following me about anymore.”
“It is expected, Whitney. You’re not married yet. You must think of your reputation.”
“I’m five and twenty, Miranda.”
“And look as young as anyone fresh on the marriage mart.” Miranda sighed deeply. “But it is done now, and I trust you compensated the poor woman for the trouble of being dismissed after a mere two full days’ employment.”
“I did indeed. She has a glowing reference and fifty pounds, and that should ensure Mrs. Fry never has to work for an obstinate, headstrong spinster like me for a while,” she said soothingly, experiencing a twinge of guilt that she made the marchioness worry over her. Miranda wasn’t always in good health, so Whitney led the marchioness up the long flight of stairs by taking her elbow. It was Miranda’s heart, of course, the organ most likely to give a lady trouble. Tonight, the marchioness did seem to lean on her arm, so Whitney held her up a little more firmly. “How are things with you?”
“Very well. The dowager moved out to the dower house as if the devil chased her upon my arrival. She expects our son to visit her daily but other than that, we are quite civil. Of course, she dotes on Christopher, so she tolerates me for his sake.”
Whitney winced. Miranda and her husband hadn’t had the best start to married life, and the dowager, the most fearsome woman she’d ever encountered, was said to have favored another woman for many years. It had been a messy situation all round. Love did that. “Perhaps I’ll ask Christopher to escort me to the dower house when I go to pay my respects tomorrow morning.” Only for the sake of peace for Miranda, of course. “I suppose everyone else has gone off to bed by now.”
“Heavens no. The dowager is here, and the entire household remains awake and waiting on your arrival. Lord Acton and his guests have joined us, too.”
“What is Acton doing here?” Whitney groaned. “Last I heard, he was in London.”
Not that Whitney was keeping track of the scoundrel.
“He is our nearest neighbor and my husband’s good friend,” Miranda reminded her. “He called earlier in the afternoon with the Quartermanes and a friend, Mr. Thompson, so Kit invited them all to stay for dinner. When I heard them arrive, I at first thought, hoped, it was your carriage.”
Whitney had no acquaintance with a Mr. Thompson, but Miss Quartermane was a young lady she’d met early in the season. She was nice if a little forward and competitive for attention. Her mother gave Whitney a megrim though. Mrs. Quartermane had stated very plainly that she disapproved of Whitney’s avoidance of matrimony, which had made for some awkward encounters during the last few weeks.
As for Lord Acton, she couldn’t imagine why he’d choose to linger in wait for her, unless he wanted the breeches of his she’d accidentally taken returned before he wed the innocent Miss Quartermane.
Miranda squeezed her hand. “Miss Quartermane is quite lovely, and I’m sure we will become great neighbors and friends one day. But promise me you’ll behave around Acton? He really has been on his best behavior since the reconciliation, especially so since his sister went to live in Bath.”
Whitney smiled, but inside she was seething. Lady Brighthurst, Lord Acton’s sister, had attempted to take Miranda’s place as marchioness through devious and despicable acts that could have ended Miranda’s son’s life, by all accounts. Whitney knew enough of the facts to know not to trust Lady Brighthurst or her brother, even if he protested his innocence. “I’ll not say one word to upset the starch in Lord Acton’s smile.”
“Oh, Whitney. If I can forgive him for the unsuspecting part he played, surely you can.” Miranda sighed. “He is trying to make amends, but I caution that you must not say a word about his sister before the Quartermanes. I don’t believe he has revealed the true state of affairs to his betrothed yet.”
Whitney came to a complete halt beneath the wide front portico. “Alice is on pins and needles to meet Lady Brighthurst and win her approval. She told me so the last time we spoke together in London.”
“I agree it is badly done of him to keep such a secret, but as far as I’m concerned, it is his business to manage.” Miranda smiled. “All I ask is to never see the woman again.”
“Yes, but surely the right moment to tell Alice that Lady Brighthurst isn’t a good person was long ago. Acton announced their engagement in the first weeks of the season. Is he afraid to tell Alice?”
“I wondered about the delay myself,” Miranda whispered as a servant approached. “Hush now. The less said, the better.”
An aged man wearing livery approached from the shadows of the hall and bowed. “I am Anders, Lord Taverham’s butler. May I take your coat, Miss Crewe?”
“Indeed you may, sir.” Whitney moved to a mirror set above a marble-topped hall table and put her treasured paint box down. She shrugged out of her coat, removed her bonnet, and shook out the skirts of her favorite pink gown. She fluffed out the cap sleeves and then peered at her face in the mirror, noting that her bright red hair looked far from elegant again. It did gleam nicely in the candlelight of the Taverhams’ front hall though, so Whitney did her best to tame it. Largely unsuccessful, she teased a few strands into ringlets beside her ears and hoped that would do. Still, she looked like she’d recently tumbled out of bed, or off the top of the carriage she’d been grudgingly allowed to drive a few miles on the way here. What an exhilarating experience that had been!
“Barely presentable,” she apologized.
“You always look lovely,” Miranda promised.
The old butler nodded too and then hurried away with her coat and bonnet. Whitney tucked her paint box under her left arm again and smiled. “Ready.”
To be nice. To be civil. To bite her tongue rather than say what she really thought of Lord Acton’s impending marriage to Miss Quartermane.
Married by arrangement?
She shivered. Whitney did not approve of that sort of thing.
The butler returned to open a tall set of doors to the left of the marchioness, and Whitney stepped into an elegant drawing room beside her.
She was barely in the room before her eyes found Acton’s.
As always, the man turned his beautiful body toward her without a sliver of shame or awkwardness in his bearing. It was as if they’d never almost climbed into bed together one decadent night.
What a mistake she’d made, thinking she’d met a kindred soul at the Fairmont Bachelors Ball.